


Together On The Precipice

by fractalficlets (fractalgeometry)



Series: Hugtober 2020 [15]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), During Canon, Emotions, Hugs, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalficlets
Summary: Crowley could have left after they agreed on their plan. Should have, even. But he didn’t leave, and Aziraphale didn’t push him. Instead they opened another bottle of wine and sat, occasionally talking, mostly sitting in not-quite-relaxed silence.~Armageddon is coming, and Aziraphale doesn't want to think about what happens if their plan doesn't work.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Hugtober 2020 [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952887
Comments: 18
Kudos: 49





	Together On The Precipice

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure what I was going to write today, and then I got the idea for something taking place during canon, right after Crowley delivers the Antichrist and they make their avert-Armageddon plan. I really love how it turned out, and I can't wait to hear what you all think.

Crowley could have left after they agreed on their plan. Should have, even. But he didn’t leave, and Aziraphale didn’t push him. Instead they opened another bottle of wine and sat, occasionally talking, mostly sitting in not-quite-relaxed silence.

Eventually Crowley shifted, stretched. Got up off the sofa.

“I better be heading off,” he said. Aziraphale thought he sounded reluctant. 

“I suppose,” Aziraphale agreed, and he definitely sounded reluctant. He stood up and the space between them seemed to shrink, more even than was logical for the actual distance.

Crowley raised one arm, reaching halfway across that space, and their eyes met. Aziraphale could see the question there, and he couldn’t say no, not with the developments of the last day.

“Just once,” Crowley said, almost whispering.

They didn’t touch, or hardly ever, as though meeting with your supposed enemy and drinking the night away together was somehow more deniable than a hug. It wasn’t something Aziraphale usually cared to examine closely, and tonight was no exception. But that question, that request that Crowley was making, his arm still extended into the space between them — Aziraphale knew he had only ever considered one answer.

He stepped forward, hand meeting Crowley’s in the middle before sliding past to wrap around the demon’s waist. Crowley moved with equal fervor, pushing against Aziraphale and clutching onto him as though he might disappear. Aziraphale pressed his face into Crowley’s shoulder, squeezing, feeling the bony, reassuring firmness of his friend’s corporation. Still there. Not lost. Not yet. 

“It’ll work,” Crowley whispered fiercely in his ear. 

Aziraphale nodded against Crowley’s shoulder. There was no other answer. They both knew it might not, would probably not. It wasn’t worth saying so. 

“Thank you,” he whispered back. He wasn’t sure exactly what for. For the plan, for the warning. For the hug. For the friendship that this demon had given him, so freely even when everything, including Aziraphale, seemed to be conspiring against it. 

Crowley didn’t reply. Aziraphale hadn’t expected him to. He didn’t let go, either, still clinging onto Aziraphale with all his might. Aziraphale was glad. He wasn’t ready for this to end. 

_ I love you, _ he wanted to say.  _ I don’t know what I’ll do if the world ends. I don’t know what I’ll do without you. _

He didn’t say any of that. He didn’t say anything, just did his level best to convey every one of the words through his arms, hands, chest, everything that was pressing against Crowley. 

Crowley didn’t speak either, but his embrace told a similar story.

Finally Crowley let go, stepped back, snapped his sunglasses into his hand, slid them onto his face. 

“I’ll be in touch with details,” he said, and meant  _ we’re in this together. _

“Don’t hit anyone on your way home,” Aziraphale replied, and meant  _ be safe. _

Crowley tossed him an ironic salute, then turned and loped out the door. 

Aziraphale sank slowly back into his chair.

He didn’t move until morning light began to brighten the bookshop.


End file.
